


Loud Silence

by antigrav_vector



Series: Acts of Defiance [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Choices, Feels, Flashbacks, Gen, I blame CAPRBB slack chat, Identity Issues, Implied Torture, Lots of Bucky feels, Mental Health Issues, Mission Fic, Missions, Past Bucky Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rebellion, Self-Determination, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 05:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/pseuds/antigrav_vector
Summary: The day after his -- admittedly somewhat impulsive -- decision to give his handlers the slip, the Asset finds himself tracking his target to a cemetery and visiting a museum.





	Loud Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Picks up more or less immediately after the prequel.

The following morning, long before the residents in the building he'd used for his stake out were awake, the Asset made his preparations. He removed his tac gear -- it desperately needed cleaning after his sexual explorations -- and stuffed it into the small duffel he'd used for his supplies, pulling on the street clothes he'd grabbed at the safehouse.

It felt strange to be wearing the much softer and lighter fabrics, after getting used to the weight of his usual gear. Trading kilos of body armour and weapons for simple cotton was almost disorienting, and made him feel vulnerable. The Asset forced himself to leave his tac gear in the bag. He couldn't walk around the streets wearing it.

Once he was satisfied he wouldn't stand out much if he had to walk into a convenience store for a flashlight battery or something else of that sort, the Asset settled in to watch his target further. Soon he would need to leave his post to find something to eat, but until then. Until then he would keep an eye on the pair of men in the hospital ward.

It wouldn't do to lose them because he had an incomprehensible craving for a plum.

 _Shut up,_ Bucky grumbled at the target. _I like plums._

The sun climbed up until it crested over the rooftops, and then higher until it threatened to blind the Asset when he peered into the ward that contained his target. Throughout the morning and early afternoon there was very little movement in the ward. A nurse stopped by every hour to check their vitals as she did her rounds, and meals were delivered for breakfast.

Three hours later, the Asset's patience was rewarded. The Black Widow casually entered with two trays of food at about the time lunch would have been served by the nurses and said something to the target.

 _Something's up,_ Bucky muttered. _Can you see what's happening?_

As usual, Bucky's words were directed at the target, at _Steve_ , but the Asset didn't care about that at the moment. Bucky's assessment was correct. Frustratingly, though, he was too far away to read the Widow's lips and he couldn't see his target at all. He would have to watch the room closely and follow them if they decided to go anywhere.

He didn't like that plan. Any plan that rested on acting and hoping he wasn't seen was a bad plan. His target might be willing to help him, but the others -- the Widow, in particular -- were likely to attack the Asset first and ask questions later in the event that he was spotted. The Asset hadn't expected that the (presumably ex-)Airman would be fully recovered so soon, or even mobile, with the bruising he was sure to have sustained during the brutal fight. No, the problem was rather that Bucky thought his target might be in good enough shape to leave the ward already.

As though the target healed faster than the Asset.

He wasn't sure he believed Bucky where that particular topic was concerned. The Asset was enhanced to heal faster than baseline humans, so that he would be more durable and efficient. No one else had ever successfully undergone the treatment that he had. He was certain of that much.

There had been a few trials, whose subjects he had been called on to train -- a few vague memories of that had survived the last wipe somehow -- but all of them had died. For his target to have similar enhancements or even better ones was an impossibility.

The thought of the target undergoing a treatment like the Asset's was making Bucky squirm uncomfortably, as though he wanted to vomit, despite being nothing but a foreign presence in the Asset's mind. That was particularly strange and confusing, since the Asset remembered nothing of the treatment he had undergone. The only reason he knew the treatment had happened was the few old and faded scars that lingered on his body, and the increased calorie intake he required when actively on mission. His handlers always warned him to feed his metabolism properly, lest he fail a mission because his blood sugar levels dipped too low. The thought reminded him that he was hungry and his stomach growled loudly at him.

Giving in to the urge to make a face, the Asset dug through his duffel for one of the ration bars he'd taken from the safehouse. They tested terrible. Like someone had taken some meat, fermented it, and then pressed it into a bar with some pebbles for texture. They contained all of the nutrients he needed but the Asset had never had the freedom to form an opinion on them. Now that he was clawing back the freedom to make his own decisions... Well. He didn't think he liked them much.

Choking down the rest of the compact ration bar, he settled himself again and continued watching the room.

He was just in time to see the target sit up in his bed, having finished his meal in the time it took the Asset to eat his ration bar, and put himself in the Asset's line of sight. The Asset winced at the number of bandages and bruises littering his target's upper body. Most of those were his fault, and he could feel Bucky's disapproval.

Hell, he wasn't all that comfortable with the sight, himself.

Now that he was committed to stealing his freedom back out of HYDRA's hands, he would need the target's offered assistance. Having his allies -- potential or not, trusted or not -- injured and at less than optimal fighting efficiency was not a situation the Asset took lightly.

Of course, that situation only worsened as the Asset watched. Not content with sitting up and being mobile, the target started _removing his own bandages_. The jolt of anger and worry that came from Bucky was almost enough to tempt the Asset into simply launching himself through the ward's window to scream at his target. The man was dumber than the Asset had ever imagined.

It would be just about possible for him to make the leap between buildings, too, if he--

No.

The Asset realised he was breathing deeper, his body instinctively preparing itself for action, and his emotions were in turmoil. He was reacting far more to the idea that his target was being stupid about his safety than mere concern over a potential ally could have justified. Even with Bucky's presence intensifying his reactions to the target's stupidity.

 _Stupid punk never did know when to stay down,_ Bucky grumbled to himself.

The Asset had to restrain himself from doing something stupid a second time -- he was starting to think that he and his target were both idiots -- when his target stood up and started pulling on street clothes.

Wanting to groan, the Asset quickly stowed what little gear he'd brought with him and prepared himself to tail the moron wherever he went.

The target's friend stood too, clearly forcing himself to his feet. He wavered for a moment once he was there, and the Asset felt Bucky wince. Bucky sympathised with him, and the Asset wondered when Bucky had ever been in that situation. The thought faded again as the Asset assessed the man. He appeared to be in significantly worse shape than the target, and made some hilarious pained grimaces as he dressed himself. 

Soon afterwards the three of them left the room, and the Asset took the chance to gather up the trackers he'd removed from his person and stash them in an out of the way corner of the rooftop.

Preparing himself to stake out the hospital's garage until his targets drove past, the Asset was very nearly caught unawares when the trio casually walked out the hospital's front doors. They took no pains at all to hide their faces, and even managed to act more or less like a group of friends laughing and joking about inconsequential things.

There were a few cracks in their façade, though. They looked around far too alertly, as though expecting to be followed. The target laughed a little too loudly each time one of the others made a joke, as though more painfully aware that he was acting than the others. The Air Force trained fighter limped a little too obviously as he walked for the motion to be an affectation. Only the Widow looked calm and carefree.

Curious about what exactly was going to happen -- whatever it was, it had to be important for his target to leave a safe position before his team was healed and back up to fighting strength, Bucky was as certain of that as he was -- the Asset followed cautiously, keeping to the rooftops until he could do so no longer.

The distance they covered was short, and led to a cemetery further out in the city suburbs. Under half an hour later the small group of them walked through the gates. The Asset had the distinct feeling that he wouldn't have to wonder just what the trio he was tailing was up to for much longer.

The target and his Air Force friend stopped in front of a freshly dug grave with a name on it that the Asset recognized. The Widow hung back for the moment, giving them time to pay their respects. They stood there and stared down at it, dry-eyed. He knew that Bucky thought of the target as a man who showed emotion easily, but in the moment his target looked more resigned than upset that Nicholas Fury was dead. His friend looked almost stoically calm, and the Asset suspected that his target's friend felt more, staring at the mute gravestone, than his target did.

It was strange and discomfiting.

Rather to his own surprise, the Asset found himself mourning the fact that he had been forced to kill the man. He'd never truly cared before. That was one more thing that his programming prevented. Well. Had prevented. He was a tool used to destroy HYDRA's opponents without mercy, and he felt no sorrow afterward, either.

Bucky, though, got far more upset about killing and death.

The Asset filed that away as another potential point in favor of the target's insistence that Bucky and the Asset were the same person. He would need to consider that in more detail later.

 _They're as human as we are, Steve,_ Bucky shouted hotly, tears standing in his eyes, catching the Asset off guard, _it's their political beliefs that make them bad human beings, but they are still human! Hell! Half of them are younger than we are! If you think they didn't grow up hearing about the glory of the Reich, just like we kept hearing how great the U.S. of A. is, you've got another think comin'! Ain't their fault they were born on the wrong side of the Atlantic or under an insane dictator!_

Shaken by the intensity of that little speech, the Asset pushed himself a little deeper into his hiding place and took a steadying breath. He wiped at his eyes, unsurprised when his hand came away wet. It took him a good thirty seconds to regain control of himself.

It was a relief to see that the tableau had held while he quietly freaked out. It took another a few minutes, which the Asset used to calm himself down fully, and then a man stepped up beside the target, and spoke in a low voice. The words didn't carry enough to reach the Asset.

After a short conversation, the newcomer turned and offered both men his hand to shake, and the Asset recognized him with no little shock. He had failed two missions, it seemed. He couldn't regret it, though; Fury would be a worthy opponent for HYDRA, now. The Asset had decided to ignore their commands, and one of the first things he was going to do was ignore the termination order that had been issued for this man. He felt no qualms about letting Fury leave; as far as his handlers knew, Fury was dead, which meant that mission was over in their eyes.

This man, Fury, was a worthy opponent. The thought made a hint of a smile tug at his lips, and he wondered at just how far this satisfaction was from the anger and wild sadness Bucky had made him feel just minutes earlier. Setting that aside, the Asset shook off the emotions he felt as best he could; he couldn't afford to be that distracted right now.

In fact, had he been in a better position to bargain, the Asset might have approached Fury to offer his services. His instincts told him that Fury was a man who, despite his profession, was relatively honest and actually believed in acting for the greater good.

In this moment, though, the Asset knew, neither of them was ready for that step. Fury had a lot of cleaning house to do, and the Asset did, too. 

After Fury left, walking boldly out of the cemetery appropriately like a man coming back from the dead, the Widow stepped up to his target, an old manila file in her hand that looked rather worn and well used. The Asset couldn't make out what was written on the cover, but he knew it was in Russian. A shiver went up his spine. Every instinct in him was shouting that whatever it contained was information that his target should _never see_.

"That thing you wanted?" She said, her voice carrying easily to the Asset in a way he suspected was on purpose, "I called in a few favors in Kiev."

She hefted the folder, flipping it deftly in her hands before she offered it, like a hunting dog with a kill.

"Be careful, Steve," she said kissing the target on one chiseled cheekbone after he accepted the folder, "you might not want to pull on that thread. He's been watching since we pulled you off that riverbank. And I'm pretty sure he's followed us here."

If it were anyone but the Widow making that comment, the Asset would worry that he was losing his touch. As it was he had to force himself not to flinch back and draw attention to his hiding place when his target suddenly looked up and scanned the area. Clearly looking for him, or anyone else watching.

After a long moment, in which it felt like his target would surely discover him and force him into another fight with the Widow, the tar-- Steve looked back down at the manila folder. "I can't just abandon him a second time," he said, a tight tone in his voice that suggested he'd mourned Bucky in a way that he wouldn't -- couldn't -- mourn anyone else in his life. "I thought he was dead once. Long ago. And that will probably always be the biggest mistake I've ever made."

The obvious emotion there in the target's voice made the Asset question whether he should approach the target now for assistance with his escape plan. There was so much loss there, and Bucky yearned to make it disappear. The Asset knew better; the target would be searching for Bucky in every word and motion of the Asset's.

The target's jaw set, and he took a deep breath. Bucky groaned, _knowing_ , in a way that transcended decades of wipes and cryo, that the target was about to do something idiotic. The Asset had to agree, based on the limited knowledge he had of his target's habit of running into danger rather than away.

The target looked back down at the manila folder and flipped it open.

The Asset recoiled, seeing a picture of himself in cryo fixed to the inside of the cover. That was his file. How the _fuck_ had the Widow gotten her hands on his file? That was something that HYDRA had buried so deeply even he'd had no idea where it was. Well. It had been. He'd known it existed -- known it had to for all that he'd never seen it or heard it mentioned -- but he wouldn't have had the first idea where to start looking for it. Hadn't gotten far enough in his plans to consider that. Yet the Widow had known what to do and how to do it. Had done it for the target, even though the Asset had actively tried to kill her.

Shaking off the thoughts, the Asset refocused on his target, who was standing there with tears in his eyes, and staring down at a photo pinned to the bottom corner of the larger one.

The Asset couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from it either, a few new memories jarred loose in his head and echoing through him.

The strongest one featured the target, much tinier than he was now, though not much younger, facing down a bully with nothing but his own grit and a trash can lid to help him. The Asset -- no, Bucky -- remembered wading into the fight with a sigh. _Why don't you go pick on someone your own size?_

When he successfully forced himself to focus on the conversation again, the Widow had vanished and the Air Force man was stepping up to the target's side. 

"You're goin' after 'im." Air Force man said flatly, as though it was a foregone conclusion.

"You don't have to come with me, Sam." The target replied, giving his friend an out.

The Asset was pretty sure this Sam -- he filed away the name -- wouldn't take it.

"I know." Sam shot back, looking determined. "When do we start?"

Faced with the implication that his target thought getting Bucky back was worth facing off with him, the Asset frowned. Was that true? He needed more information.

But where to start?

The Asset pulled back, stealthily abandoning his self-assigned stake-out in favor of putting some distance between himself and his former target. And that file.

Seeing it had made strange shivery waves of dread run up and down his spine.

The photo of Bucky was what decided him, in the end; he was going to the Smithsonian. He needed to know what was true, or at least less biased in its presentation.

Before he did so, though, he considered his current assignment. Bucky was gaining strength and personality as the day passed, and the Asset had no reason to believe that would stop or diminish. Bucky didn't want to kill the target. In fact, he refused without the slightest waver in his manner. In the face of that kind of resolve, the Asset was unlikely to have any chance of convincing Bucky of anything.

He gave up the assignment with a mental shrug and refocused his attention on the issue of finding out just who Bucky was. That would be a more productive use of his time.

If his former target truly was who the Asset suspected -- if he actually was the Captain America that the world claimed -- then that black and white photo likely was as old as it looked. And that in turn meant that -- if Captain America knew him so well -- there were good odds that Bucky would be part of any exhibition involving his (ex-)target, as well.

He slipped back out of the cemetery and turned back toward the District of Columbia city line. At least, the Asset suppressed a snort, his memory of this mission was good. He remembered seeing banners hanging from the street lamps advertising exactly what he wanted.

 _You already know what you're gonna find,_ Bucky commented to someone the Asset couldn't identify, his tone suggestive and low. _Why're you bothering?_

The Asset wanted to growl at Bucky; if he knew what he would find, he wouldn't be taking the risk of going into what promised to be a crowded museum.

Spurred on by Bucky's apparent derision, the Asset decided on the spot that he was damned well going to do it. Now.

 _You're kiddin' me, right?_ Bucky grumbled at the -- at Steve. _You call this a plan?_

It wasn't much of a plan, that was true, but it was the next best thing: a concrete goal to work towards. He desperately needed intel, and this was the quickest way to get it. In any case, the Asset had a new objective and Bucky wasn't going to dissuade him from pursuing it. He could be stubborn, too.

As he walked back toward the Mall and his goal, the Asset found himself feeling oddly relieved. It was a foreign feeling, but he decided he liked it, tilting his head back and letting his eyes fall shut for a moment. The warm sunlight on his face was like a caress.

 _I like being warm, Peg._ Bucky pointed out, his tone arch. _Don't you?_

The rest of his trek passed uneventfully until the Asset caught sight of himself -- unwashed, unshaven, and his hair a hopeless tangle under his hat -- in the glass of the doors on his way in, and Bucky winced. So much for not standing out. There wasn't much he could do about his appearance, at the moment. At least he didn't have to talk to anyone or buy tickets for a special exhibit. The Smithsonian didn't charge entry fees.

He did duck into the first restroom he found to tame his hair and wash his face.

When he got to the exhibit proper, though, the Asset had to wonder whether maybe he'd miscalculated. Seeing the mannequins with their supposedly authentic uniforms and weaponry was making him twitchy and Bucky project an emotion tangled up somewhere between anger and longing. He moved quickly to the next alcove. Unfortunately, that left him staring at his (ex-)target's photos. There were seemingly dozens of them, all from the various films that had been made. There were a few propaganda posters that Bucky sniggered at. The Asset was fairly sure Bucky had teased the target about those.

In the next area, sure enough, the Asset found himself staring at his own face -- the face he'd seen in the black and white photograph from the file -- and he started to believe.

 _Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?_ Bucky quipped, staring down a zipline that descended about half a mile and stretched, seemingly endless, over a deep snowy canyon that looked like it belonged in the Italian Alps. _This isn't payback, is it?_

The Asset felt a bone deep shudder go through him. Maybe it _was_ all true.

He hurried through the rest of the exhibit, torn between wanting to see it all and needing to get out, until he caught sight of a small glass case of memorabilia. It seemed random, but something in him -- something that wasn't Bucky, this time -- knew it was far more important than it seemed.

A small pocket journal, opened to a random page containing a whimsical sketch of a monkey on a unicycle; a set of pencils; a photograph of the-- of Steve and the Commandos he'd led, including Bucky, clustered around a jeep with a map spread open on the hood; a compass with a very worn and faded photograph tucked into it as though it was a locket.

The objects were enough to make the Asset want to put his fist through a wall. Those were _personal_ in a way that the information and the uniforms weren't.

The captions were somehow worse. They were oh so much worse, than the objects in the case. Now he knew exactly who that brunette in his fantasy had been.

 _Oh, God, Peggy, please,_ Bucky whimpered, wrecked, in response to the thought.

The Asset swallowed against the lump in his throat and ignored the twitch of arousal he felt.

It was high time he moved on. He'd probably lingered too long, despite his brief visit. He needed to leave, to find a safe place to eat and rest. He needed to refuel, and to come to grips with the new pieces of himself that he'd recovered.

He'd achieved his goal, at least in part. The next logical step would be to hole up and assimilate what he'd learned. And maybe to attempt to recover a few more memories. He wasn't Bucky anymore, thanks to HYDRA, and might never be again even if he got back the memories he had obviously lost. But a part of him wanted to be. Wanted to have that back.

Or, if he couldn't, to get back whatever was possible.

He felt eyes on him as he left the Museum, and tried not to acknowledge them. They were likely just passersby, but the possibility that someone might recognise him was greater than zero. Shaking off the feeling as best he could, the Asset turned to the task of disappearing.

The tar-- Steve had a point. He _might_ be Bucky. Well, he could be, if he remembered anything more than fragments of his past. But, the Asset told himself as he adjusted the cap on his head, he didn't, so he couldn't be.

Yet.

The silence in his head felt oddly loud.


End file.
